


A Chocolate Milk Thief

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Batfamily Bingo [15]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: (that stands for Original Cat), Brotherly Bonding, Cats, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Families Bonding Wierdly, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Prompt: Pets, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Tim Drake Deserves a Cat, Tim Drake GETS a Cat, but he's trying his best to do something nice for his bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Suddenly a bright orange shape jumps onto the counter out of nowhere, scaring Tim shitless and making him spill his milk. In less than a second Tim is in offense-mode, slipping his collapsible bo staff out of its hiding place in his sweatshirt and pointing it at the creature, ready to strike.A ginger kitten blinks back at Tim. It crosses its little blue eyes at the deadly weapon pointed at its fluffy face. It lifts a paw and swats at the bo staff.There...is a cat. Sitting on Tim’s counter. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Batfamily Bingo [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792990
Comments: 16
Kudos: 597
Collections: Tim Drake and Red Robin Stories





	A Chocolate Milk Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Fandomsaremylifeline said: "For the bingo prompt list: Damien and Tim, Pets?"
> 
> I've officially reached bingo! But because I'm me and I have no chill, I'm going to continue writing whatever prompts I still feel like doing so YEAH. Enjoy!

Damian could list in his head all of the crimes that he thinks Drake could be capable of, should he ever decide to go off the rails: manslaughter (it’s happened before, depending on who you ask); murder (if he ever grew a spine, which is highly unlikely at this point); being so dorky and stupid that the courts have to condemn him for it and lock him up in a madhouse; having a disgusting taste in fashion that rivals Grayson’s own; and probablyfalling asleep at the wheel and bulldozing over thousands of innocents before driving straight into an electrical box and suffering a quick, barbecued death.  
  
But _theft?_ In Damian’s own _home, no less?_ He should have had Drake shipped off to New Zealand in a wooden crate years ago.  
  
Drake is slumbering on the living room sofa, his laptop slowly slipping off his lap and making its way towards a crashing tragedy on the carpet below. Drake, ever the annoyance, is making this awful noise halfway between a snore and a squeak with every exhale. That alone is infuriating, but the fact that _Alfred,_ Damian’s _loyal_ _cat,_ is napping on Drake’s chest is the final straw.  
  
Damian grabs a throw pillow and smacks Drake in the face. Hard. “Does your brain work or are you just trying to prove yourself as the worst creature to grace this god awful planet?”  
  
Drake makes a disturbed face and opens his eyes, shockingly unstartled by the hit. Damian should have used the lamp. Drake rubs his eyes, blinking drowsily. “Uh...what?”  
  
“Do your ears work? I demand to know what the hell it is you think you’re doing.”  
  
“...Sleeping?”  
  
Damian points at the still-sleeping Alfred. “You _stole_ my cat.”  
  
Drake looks down. “Oh. Yeah. He came here on his own, actually.” He smiles and scratches under the cat’s chin, making him purr. “He likes me.”  
  
“He’s not _yours.”_  
  
“So? I don’t have a cat and Alfred seems to think I’m a _great_ sleeping buddy, so run along and play with your toys or something." He waves his hand, shooing Damian away. "We’re busy.”  
  
Damian’s nostrils flare and he swears that if he were still a killer, Drake would be long dead by now. “This is _not_ the end.”  
  
“M’kay. Goodnight.” Drake shifts, getting comfortable once more and closing his eyes as if Damian isn’t the deadly threat he is. Alfred appears to share the same sentiment, yawning and stretching himself out before going back to sleep on Drake’s chest.  
  
The absolute traitor.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Tim kicks the front door closed, tossing his keys into the small basketball hoop set over the table in his apartment's entranceway. He knew that letting Ives help him decorate this place was a gold star idea.

He charts a path straight for the kitchen, exhaustion weighing down every muscle. Tim and Dick spent all day trying to piece together Dick’s new IKEA furniture. It took almost six hours for them to give up and call Barbara to help them out after their attempt at the Nordkisa wardrobe looked more like a chair for some reason. They still don’t have any idea how they did that.  
  
Tim pours himself a glass of chocolate milk (because he is an _adult,_ damn it), humming along to a tune that’s been stuck in his head _all day._ Dick’s unrelenting Broadway obsession is killing him slowly.  
  
Suddenly a bright orange shape jumps onto the counter out of _nowhere,_ scaring Tim shitless and making him spill his milk. In less than a second Tim is already in offense-mode, slipping his collapsible bo staff out of its hiding place in his sweatshirt and pointing it at the creature, ready to strike.  
  
A red tabby kitten blinks back at Tim. It crosses its little blue eyes at the deadly weapon pointed at its fluffy face, then lifts a paw and swats at it.  
  
There...is a cat. Sitting on Tim’s counter. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.  
  
What the _fuck?_  
  
Tim doesn't remember getting a cat. Ever. Sure he wanted one desperately when he was a kid, but his parents had a thing about animal hair so he was never allowed to have one, no matter how much he begged and cried over it.  
  
Anyway, he’s like, eighty percent sure that this cat wasn’t here yesterday. Did he leave a window open and it snuck in while he was out? He knows without checking that the answer is no, given that Tim has been in a state of perpetual coldness since the day he was born and would sooner sell his soul than crack open a window and let in that extra breeze. He’s also never been drunk in his life, so there’s no way this was an alcohol-induced impulse buy. Flash didn’t change the timeline again, right? Maybe Tim should call up Bart and make sure everything is still copacetic, reality-wise.  
  
Losing interest in the bo staff, the kitten waddles across the counter in search of a new adventure. Its Christmas tree-shaped triangle of a tail wags around like a bobble head while it approaches the puddle of chocolate milk that Tim spilled. Tim watches in silent confusion as it starts lapping up the puddle. Do cats even _like_ chocolate?  
  
“Um. That’s mine,” Tim tells the kitten. He folds up his staff and tucks it back into its hiding place. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but it’s kind of rude to drink someone else’s chocolate milk like that.”  
  
The kitten lifts its tiny head, its pink tongue flicking out to lick residual milk off its nose. Then it lets out a mewl, high-pitched and squeaky like a creaking faucet. Tim leans down to look the intruder in the eye, their noses less than an inch apart.  
  
“Did Selina send you?” The kitten meows again and rubs its face against Tim’s cheek, purring. “Is this part of some elaborate plot? Because I’m pretty tired and I’m not in the mood for that right now.”  
  
The kitten neither confirms nor denies Tim’s theory, which would be suspicious if only he weren’t a lonely seventeen-year-old man talking to a cat. What has his life come to?  
  
The furball licks the tip of Tim's nose before backing away. It crouches, wiggling its butt, and then launches itself at Tim like a less-deadly Damian Wayne has several times in the midst of a murderous rampage. The cat latches onto Tim’s shoulder and makes itself comfortable there like this is all perfectly normal, nuzzling his neck. Jesus _Christ,_ this thing is fluffy. It’s like the world's softest pillow and the world's fluffiest cloud had a lovechild and that lovechild was this kitten.  
  
Tim strokes down the kitten’s back, feels its fur under his fingertips. “What are you _doing here?”_ The kitten sniffs at Tim’s mop of hair before chewing on the strands at the back of his neck, as one does. Its claws get tangled in no time so Tim reaches up and grabs the kitten gently around its belly with one hand, careful not to hurt it. He holds the wriggling fella up in front of him. “Are you an associate of Dex-Starr? Because if this is some infiltration technique and you plan to weasel your way into my heart before killing me in my sleep tonight, it’s working.”  
  
He brings the kitten close to his chest and strokes its tiny head, earning pleased purrs so powerful that the thing's entire body vibrates. “You are so fucking _cute,"_ Tim says in what he will forever deny is a baby voice. "I mean—is it okay if I curse around you? I know that swearing around kids is generally frowned upon but I don’t know the etiquette when it comes to animals.”  
  
“Talking to yourself again, Drake?” a voice says, scaring Tim shitless for the second time today. “I’m disappointed but not surprised.” Tim wheels around, clutching the kitten protectively. Damian is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.  
  
Tim points accusingly at the kitten, who nips his finger. “Why is there a cat in my apartment?”  
  
“I found her in an alley behind a butcher’s shop, eating scraps from a dumpster."  
  
“So you brought her _here?_ My place isn’t your personal storage facility.”  
  
“You truly are an idiot, Drake.” Before Tim can defend his honor, Damian uncrosses his arms and says, “She’s _your_ cat. I assumed that was clear.”  
  
The kitten in question nuzzles Tim’s chin again, her whiskers scratchy but not unpleasant. “You...got me a cat.”  
  
“Only so you will stop hogging my animals, now that you cannot use the excuse that you have no pets of your own.”  
  
“Dude. You got me a _cat.”_  
  
Damian sneers, but his cheeks are dusted with pink. “It is not a gift, if that’s what you’re implying. I would have much rather kept her for myself if only you weren’t so irritating. This is a business exchange and nothing more.”  
  
“Sure, sure.” Honestly, Tim’s only partially listening now. He holds up the kitten to his face, bumping her nose with his own. “She’s cute. Did you name her yet?”  
  
“Why would I? She isn’t mine.”  
  
Tim stares into the kitten’s eyes, sifting through possible names in his head. It’s got to be perfect if this tiny bundle of fluffy joy is going to be staying here. The kitty blinks slowly at him and swats the string on his sweatshirt with her itty-bitty paw, no larger than a quarter.  
  
After a minute or so, it hits him. “Ruby.”  
  
Damian’s nose wrinkles. “Ruby?”  
  
“Yep. Short for Rubidium, obviously.”  
  
“You’re kidding.”  
  
Tim kisses Ruby’s forehead before shifting her into the crook of his elbow, holding her like a baby. “It’s the thirty-seventh element on the periodic table, an alkali metal. Fits her perfectly.”  
  
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You're an idiot.”  
  
Tim shrugs. “She’s not your cat. Fun fact, actually—Rubidium comes from the Latin word _rubidus,_ which means deep red. _And_ I’ll bet you didn’t know that the same element is used to give fireworks their purplish-reddish color, which I think is _super_ interesting—”  
  
“I get it,” Damian snaps, throwing his head back. “God, you’re more boring than Father.”  
  
Tim looks down at the furry little face in his arms and feels his heart melt into goo. “She’s going to need...supplies, right? Like food? Because I don’t have any cat food and I barely remember to feed myself, let alone another living creature. Can cats eat Ramen?”  
  
“I knew this was going to be a mistake.” Damian slaps himself in the forehead. "I should have gotten you a plant."  
  
Tim pets Ruby’s head, feeling her purr against him. Is this what Bruce feels like when he looks at _his_ kids? Tim should ask him that when he goes to the manor to show off the newest addition to their family. “Too late, she's mine now. Beside, you have a bunch of animals. Want to come to the pet store with me?”  
  
Damian looks wary, like Tim randomly switched to speaking in Wookie. Which he is fluent in, by the way. “You're...inviting me?”  
  
“Sure. I’ll need the help and you were cool enough to get me this _adorable little lady_ in the first place, so it’s only fair you help me get her food and litter and stuff.”  
  
Damian thinks it over for a moment. “Only if I get to pick out her collar.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
First thing on the list? A personalized ID tag for the new Ruby Drake-Wayne.

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
